


cross my heart and hope (not) to die

by nimrodcracker



Series: a blinding flash [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, whiskey is a good peace offering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't how Six envisioned meeting new people. Having a gun pointed in her face was just a bad start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cross my heart and hope (not) to die

**Author's Note:**

> Everything interesting happens in decrepit shacks all over the Commonwealth.  
> (or: another example of how terribly un-creative I am, settings-wise)
> 
> References my FNV work.

When there's a storm out, sleeping was the last thing she should've done, especially after taking refuge in the nearest structurally-sound shack in the Commonwealth. There wasn't anyone inside the shack, but she did notice the dying embers of a fire pit outside.

Between the rain and the occupied shack, she figured staying dry was a hell lot better than sloshin' about with drenched boots. With her trusty Colt and veteran's instincts, she had a good chance of survival...until she dozed off by the wall.

Naturally, she woke up with a gun in her face.

"Name."

Not again. Should've popped Mentats to stay awake. "Hey. Not a raider."

The gun rams into her jaw. _Ouch_. " _Name_ ," the woman repeats, and there's tempered rage in that single word.

" _Eola,_ " she rasps. Woman isn't some flighty greenhorn, then. Knows her way round guns, threats too. "Gun down, please. My left eye's already blinded. Don't want to lose another."

She doesn't bother raising her hands. Any movement might startle the woman.

"Then you'd better start telling me why the hell you're here."

 _Ah._  Military, maybe. Or security. She recognises that look, the hard stare. The blue jumpsuit too, beneath the bomber jacket. It's completely dry. "Rainstorm, o' course. Didn't ya know?"

Pistol barrel's digging into her cheek, makes her uneasy. "Could y-" she begins, but pain swallows her words. She tries again. "Gun down. Please. It hurts."

She realises something: her satchel isn't on her lap. Neither is her Colt. Where are they?

"For all I know, you could be a synth feigning disability to let down my guard. I'm not falling for your ruse."

"Suspicion, I understand." But not Vault girl's hostility towards synths. "But my eye's really hurtin'. I'm takin' off my eyepatch. See for yourself."

She doesn't wait for an acknowledgement. She slides the eye-patch up and exhales, relieved that she's still alive.

A hitch in breath, and the pressure vanishes. "Fine," Vault girl concedes, holsters her 10mm. Tone lacks its former venom, but the scowl's still there.

She pats the tender patch on her face, hissing at the touch. It'll stay sore for a day, two at most.

"You're a vaultie," she says quickly. She doesn't want the silence to grow.

"Nice to know your remaining eye still works," Vault girl scoffs. Folds her arms and leans against a table, too. "Would be a tragedy if it wasn't."

Deflection with sarcasm; a defense mechanism. Something bad must've happened. She notices how Vault girl's eyes are still trained on her too. Hypervigilance. Like a true survivor. "So salty, you."

Vault girl blinks. " _What?_ "

"Nevermind," she sighs. Tension unwinds between 'em, and she's glad. "A term back West. Means you're bein' awfully grouchy." She rummages in her belt pouch, grinning when she finds it. She shakes the hip flask, the liquid inside goes _splosh-splosh._  "Drink? Look like your nerves need soothin'."

Vault girl takes it, surprisingly. Doesn't use it to hit her, too. Knocks back once, and can barely keep it down. Eyes wide, Vault girl starts stammering, blush colouring her cheeks. "Who drinks this swill? It's enough to knock out a bull."

She wants to laugh at that, but Vault girl probably won't like it. What's a _bull_ though? "I do. My friend, too. Wait till you've tasted her moonshine. I bet you'll spit everythin' out."

Thinking of her friend has her smiling like a fool. Hair as red as Vault girl's blush, character as sour as Abraxo cleaner (yes, she's tasted it - on a _dare_ ) but dependable like well-worn boots. A friend, gained after a round of drinkin'. Or a few.

"Ain't used to hard liquor, eh? West Coast drink is strong," she continues. The parallel isn't lost on her. "Used to glug down Absinthe till I started peein' blood. Downgraded to whiskey after."

Vault girl's looking at her strange, so she touches her face to see if her eyepatch's covering her eye. First look's always alright, but the second freaks people more. They never look properly at first, is why.

"So you're a _chronic_ alcoholic? Figures. Don't tell me all Westsiders are like you."

"Oh no," she laughs. She hasn't expected that. "Plenty of sober ones. Just me 'n my friend. Lord knows we drink to forget."

She pauses. It suddenly hurt to speak. "Glad I'm- _we're_  past that. Had a rough patch back then, thought my time had come. Wanted to, actually."

Needles in her skin. She starts to see pictures in her head, flashing like snapshots. Bodies, bodies, and more bodies. Always the same few, her favourite friends.

"Enough." There's a hand on her shoulder; she looks up to see Vault girl. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown on that face. "There's a lot of whiskey left."

Throat dry, she accepts the proffered flask. A few sips, and it doesn't sting to swallow anymore.

Vault girl stays silent. In fact, Vault girl's deathly still, watching her like a cazador. Mismatched pair of irises, she's noticed, behind grimy glasses. 

Tension winds up again, she feels it. Beep-beep-beep like the bomb collars, steely gaze boring into hers. Lifeless, intense. Just like the holograms.

"Who is this... _friend_  of yours? The way you speak of her, I wonder-"

" _Ugh._ " She wonders how she hasn't crushed her hip flask yet. "People love pairin' us and I ain't understand. She's a friend, nothing more. And I don't even _like_  sex."

"Could've fooled me." Silly smile on Vault girl's lips, head cocked to a side. Teasing. "You know, you can love someone romantically without wanting to bang them. I knew someone like that."

"See! They keep sayin' that too. But I don't." Vault girl's enjoyin' this, she knows. Gets kicks from makin' people squirm. "Ain't you wanted to kill me? Hurry up already."

"I don't know if you westies have heard of this, but us easties have it. It's spelled M-O-R-A-L-S."

"Bra- _vo_." She takes a messy swig, liquid dribbling on her chin. Stings her skin, maybe her feelings too. "Ended up with a smartass. All m' friends are. Lord have mercy on me."

"You're not bad for a stranger," Vault girl remarks, amused. "Most strangers I've met are people I'm supposed to arrest. Or kill. Needless to say, I was very ready to shoot you."

She clutches her flask a lil tighter. She doesn't doubt that. At all. "Good you didn't. Got letters to deliver."

"And here I thought you were a scavver."

She _knew_  Veronica's wardrobe would come in handy as disguise. "I'm a courier. Need to get to Diamond City. Don't know where's it, though. Can't see any jewels anywhere."

Vault girl doesn't find it funny. Sad. "I do, and that happens to be where I'm headed."

"Dare I ask?" She isn't sure why Vault girl hasn't offered outright. Playin' hard to get?

"Heh. You're lucky I'm in the mood for company."

Maybe. Or just cheeky. "Not askin' for caps?"

She's pegged her as a merc, a Vault-dweller-turned-merc, until Vault girl replies. "Not today."

Takes a while, but she decides Vault girl's still a merc. Without the usual array of guns, though. Still, two pairs of eyes on the road, chances of survivin' increases. Decent sort, though. Wasteland needs more people like her. "So we headin' out? Nightfall soon, best to move under darkness."

"I'd say the same, but I've squirrel bits roasting over a fire outside." Vault girl stands and heads for the door. "We'll set off after eating."

She isn't hungry, but it's _roast squirrel_. Her favourite. "Get me a stick, yeah?"

Vault girl walks on, nods without sparing a glance.

"And-" She doesn't have to say this, but she can't resist "-I'd like my stuff back, too. I know you'd have shot me clean if you hadn't gone through me stuff first."

Vault girl jerks to a halt, finally looks back. Smirk stretched a mile wide, teeth peeking out under chapped lips. "You figured me out. I knew I liked you for a reason."

Grins like a deathclaw, she muses. Vault girl loves baring those pristine canines. But they're yellowed, just like hers. A smoker, like her.

"Nah, thank _you_  for givin' me a chance," she says, and means it. Just 'cause Vault girl's rifled through her belongings doesn't guarantee her survival. Might've been the reverse, even.

When the door shuts, she finally relaxes, sinking her body against rusting walls. A switchblade slides out of her right sleeve, clattering as it bounces on the floor.

She's thankful that she didn't have to hurt the woman. Vault girl's not Legion-level evil. Just two screws loose, perhaps. Or a cruel streak. Nothing she hasn't seen before.

They'll get on fine, she thinks. First step of any bloomin' friendship is to not kill each other, after all.

Seconds pass, and Vault girl returns with two sticks of squirrel bits and a familiar satchel. The switchblade's too conspicuous for Vault girl to miss.

Vault girl doesn't look surprised. Instead, she picks it up by the blade and hands it back, handle first.

"Here." Vault girl smirks. "You should keep it safe. Who knows when you might _actually_  need it."

She musters a weak smile. Vault girl's words are strangely reassuring.

Two screws loose, but dependable like well-worn boots.

She doesn't want to be wrong.

===

_Journal entry dated December 25th, 2287._

Help me link up with the caravan bosses in the Commonwealth, she said. Wouldn't be much trouble, since you're already delivering things all over America, she said. Heck, if you can take down Lanius, you can handle anything, she said.

Cass seriously needs to meet the locals first.

Note to self: bring Veronica next time. At this rate, I need a bodyguard.


End file.
